Coffee
by Nanatsusaya
Summary: [Ryuhei Kitamura's Versus] Giggles, Glasses, coffee shop. That's about it.


_Author note: Just to clear up any confusion, the speaker is Kazuhito Oba's character and theother is Kenji Matsuda's. The whole lack of name thing was cute for about two paragraphs, then it got very irritating._

**Coffee **

If you had told me 10 years ago I would be calmly sipping coffee in a public café not an hour after murdering a complete stranger in cold blood, I probably would have asked you how much you had to drink that day. Yet, here I am, doing exactly that and watching a small knife flick back and forth in too idle hands.

"Put that away," I told him absently, pausing briefly with the mug to my lips. Reluctantly, the knife disappeared in the breast pocket of his neatly pressed shirt, accompanied by a vaguely displeased glance. My companion turned to swirling his coffee around in the cup to occupy himself now that the knife was gone. Killing always wound him up for at least and hour afterward. For me it was tiresome.

Setting my cup down again, I leaned on one hand and listened without much interest to the inane chatter of the people at surrounding tables. Perhaps that was why we always ended up in these sunny coffee shops—no one discussed anything of particular importance and being immersed in that sort of unthreatening atmosphere effectively dulled the fresh memories of splattered blood and terrified faces. The terror was what I hated most about killing. That flicker of emotion was a constant reminder of the victims' humanity. To most like me, it was just another job, a way to make a living and I can't say I wasn't of the same persuasion in the beginning. There used to be another that worked with us often, a senseless and talkative woman that never really understood that I wasn't interested in her. I didn't mind her much, but she was careless and it got her in trouble soon enough, leaving behind only an ambiguous obituary in the newspaper and a lot of confusion to clear up. There are a few others I've met on occasion—a strange lot altogether—but they tend to not associate with us more than was necessary.

I didn't notice him staring at me until he was leaning across the table so close I could feel his breath on the side of my face in what appeared to be an attempt to see right into my skull. "You think too much." That observation was presented right into my ear at no consideration for how uncomfortable that might be. I suppose when things like that don't make you jump anymore, you've been with someone too long.

"Hn."

Not satisfied with that reply, he pulled his chair over to my side of the table in an attempt to follow my line of vision, dragging his cup of coffee along with. Not finding that very helpful at all, he jabbed his chin into my shoulder and continued, "So what are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." Some things are better kept to yourself. "I'm just tired."

"Hmph, you would be." He drew back with a scrutinizing look.

One eyebrow raised, I replied, "And what is that supposed to mean?" To which I only received a sly glance in reply as the corners of his mouth twitched up into a faintly devious smile. "_What?_" Again, no comprehensible answer, although I can guess what he's thinking. I considered throwing the sugar container at him out of total exasperation, but decided that wouldn't get me anywhere. Instead, I settled for inattentively stirring what was left of my coffee with the hand that wasn't holding up my head. "You're impossible."

We sat drinking our coffee in silence, side by side, the hum and bustle of the lunchtime rush just distracting enough to keep me from really noticing the stray fingers drumming lightly on my knee in some haphazard pattern. I've been told before that I must have the patience of a saint to put up with him (and I'm inclined to agree on occasion).

The drumming stopped abruptly as he moved his hand to wave the waitress over to refill our mugs, giving the over-worked girl a demanding look she didn't much appreciate. Despite the continuous flow of steam coming off the surface of the fresh coffee, my companion took a gulp, setting the cup down quickly and fanning his extended tongue with both hands. "Ah…hothothothot…."

The waitress rolled her eyes and left quickly to continue her rounds. I didn't bother mentioning that coffee was hot and that he should pay more attention next time—most things I said went in one ear and out the other. Having recovered from the burning drink, he stared it down for a moment, as if the cup was an offensive presence, and then turned to me.

"So, when's our next job?" He slid his hands in his pockets, seemingly in an attempt to keep them away from the enemy coffee mug.

"Next Tuesday."

"Ooo, weekend off. We should celebrate," he said, leaning close again and nudging my side with his elbow.

I answered with a shrug, reaching for the sugar, "Nm."

"Feh, you're no fun."

"I heard this next job is a big one." A change of subject seemed the best way to steer clear of things I'd rather not talk about in a crowded coffee shop. "Are you still going through with your plan?"

"Yeah, it'll be easy with that many people."

"Mm…" I tried to talk him out of it before, but made absolutely no progress.

"You don't have to come with."

The complete levelness of his voice was startling—for the most part up until this point I had believed he had no common sense at all. "…Eh?"

"I said you don't have to come with," he repeated in the same tone.

"Well…someone has to keep you in line."

He dropped the subject abruptly, the warped reflection of passerby in the coffee catching his eye. I suppose I should worry at that odd behavior, but frankly, very little surprises me or I would have died of a heart attack long ago spending much of my time with him. Leaning back with a sigh, I contented myself with watching the people go by. There wasn't much else to do on afternoons like this—all mundane and normal on the surface with the buzz of ordinary people and coffee.

---

My one wish in the world right now is for there to be enough Versus fans to make a section for this fine movie. Who's with me?


End file.
